Shwedagon

Shwedagon

Myanmar has always been in my dreams, for a very long time. Despite that, for some strange reasons that make me loathe flying on small planes (necessary to visit this country in the most efficient way), the trip had been postponed and postponed. Finally, in March 2014, I decided I had to overcome this fear (as I also firmly believe in the guiding hand of fate) and after a few months, together with other two ladies, I was on the plane to Yangon.

I was skeptical about Yangon, thinking that it would look like a ‘run-down Bangkok’, but – to my great surprise- I soon discovered that it was – to my eyes – a beautiful city!

I loved the colonial buildings! Many of them have not been yet restored, and they proudly stand there in all their decaying beauty. They have nothing to do with the few and often too modernly restored ‘colonial buildings’ in Singapore or Hong Kong or elsewhere in Asia.

I loved the cute and unpretentious look of The Strand Hotel. The Sarkies brothers – the founders- were also the hand behind the Raffles Hotel in Singapore. But the Raffles- due to its modern renovation- has lost all its original charm, still visible at The Strand.

I loved the ‘Sula Paya’, a golden pagoda in the middle of a crossroad.

I loved the fact that motorbikes are banned in Yangon ( there are many rumors about this ban. One version of the story says that a person riding a motorbike made a threatening gesture to a military general…). I wish this could happen in Ho Chi Minh as well!

I immediately and immensely loved the people of Myanmar and their candid smile, their smart glances, their proud past…

But the place that blew my heart away was Shwedagon Pagoda, an amazing Buddhist pagoda 110 meters tall, dating back to 2,500 years ago. The Pagoda is covered in gold and the top of its stupa is encrusted with thousands of diamonds and jewels of any kind. To me, none of the sacred places I stepped in during my travelling in Asia could ever compare to this majestic site.

What amazed me was not only the site in itself, so vast and yet so warmly hospitable, but its sense of calm, quiet, peace, and – in a word – its unique spirituality.

We sat there, next to the paya (Burmese word for ‘pagoda’), and waited for sunset. The experience in itself was enlightening, and made me feel so blessed for being there, at the right time, in the right place.

My poem Shwedagon stems from all the emotions that overcame me during my visit of this sacred place. And it could not have been otherwise…

Once back from Myanmar, I immersed myself in the reading of The Glass Palace, by Amitav Gosh. I highly recommend this reading as a completion of this unique journey.

SHWEDAGON

Here I am, at last.

Sitting below the huge and tall umbrella

Loaded with golden jewels, pearls, rubies and diamonds:

Offerings of time past and present.

Monks walk around the golden terrace at sunset.

Their eyes open, look up in search of the glimmering of a gem

Fallen from its nest, from the sky above.

Rituals forever calming down the souls of pilgrims

In the vast square occupied by magnificent sacred buildings.

A woman prays, surrounded by many Buddhas.

Not far from her, sits a monk:

Eyes closed, hands joined, mind levitating to another level.

Little bells are twinkling in the sunny air,

Leaving a tray of vibrating chimes in the afternoon breeze.

Birds are chirping softly and flying low above our head.

They too are gentle and discreet.

They too respect the stillness.

Hundreds of Budhhas in meditation, in prayer, in nirvana

With their smile of love and peacefulness.

They gaze at those offering prayers and donations,

Who search for a respite in their troubled souls.

I happened to be at the right time, in the right place.

On a sunny and dry March day.

The sky is a blue canvas devoid of any white paintbrush.

The sunset hits the huge pagoda,

changing its hues of gold into copper and orange.

Sacred stories of the past come to my mind,

As history changed its course, but the paya is still proudly standing.

I wish I could call them, lusciously, “Sardinian Nights”, as the expression is reminiscent of get-togethers in the darkness that falls at dusk, as we enjoy food, wine, music and tales of a mysterious past in the company of passionate people.

4 Comments

Angelo Paratico

July 21, 2014 - 11:40 pm

Welcome to B39, Paola! Great poem and great souvenir of your trip to Burma…as I still like to call it. All the best. Angelo

Paola Caronni

Ciriaco Offeddu

July 22, 2014 - 12:12 am

Dear Paola, I’m happy you are sharing your ‘shrapnels of everyday life’ with us, in such a splendid way. I’m happy you are opening this new window of poetry – really we need poems and their consolation. B39 will be enriched by your sensibility. My best wishes for this cultural process together!

PAOLA CARONNI holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Hong Kong and an MA in English Language and Literature from the University of Milan, where she graduated with a thesis titled: “Hong Kong as the last British Outpost and its Image in English Literature”. Her passion for Asia and Hong Kong in particular brought her to the former British colony in 1995. Paola has been living in Asia (Singapore and Hong Kong) since then. Paola works as a freelance Translator, Interpreter and Tutor of Italian language, loves writing poetry and fiction and is very much involved in charity work.